‘Mad God’ is a Disturbing Testament to Why We Love Horror
The Scoop features personal essays on movie-centric topics.
By Justin Bower
Phil Tippett has created his own dark prophecy.
Mad God’s opening scene, which follows a lengthy quote from the Bible, is his creative rendition of the biblical Tower of Babel story. What ensues over the next hour and a half is Tippett’s conception of a world with a mad God, devastated environment, and industry as the epicenter of hopelessness.
What’s truly mad about this film is that it took Tippett 30 years to complete. When it was done, though, Tippett had achieved something wonderful: he proved that horror’s greatest strength is raw depictions of fright paired with deep meditations on existence—and that no amount of time is too much time when bringing a masterpiece to life.
Mad God is, for better or worse, one of the most engrossing films I’ve ever seen. It intentionally lacks a steady narrative, but surprisingly has much to say about hope and meaning in life. What I love about horror films is that the viewer can watch entirely for the sake of terrifying moments, or they can subscribe to the deeper messaging the director intends to share.
When I first saw Mad God, I was in the first category; upon rewatching it, I forced myself into the second. The common thread in both watches is that Phil Tippett made a mad movie for horror lovers, bent on grossness and unexpected depth.
Hell on (or Under) Earth
Following the Babel sequence, we’re introduced to the film’s protagonist, if you could call them that. “The Assassin” descends in what looks like a space pod, deeper into the depths of the mad world. Cannon-fire erupts and sirens sound. Their pod is a beacon, like a ship diving further into the Mariana Trench. The Assassin begins their mission—adorned with a briefcase, gas mask, boots, gloves, and jacket—by consulting a map that slowly falls apart the more they use it. The creatures of Phil Tippett’s nightmares are grueling, but masterfully made.
As I watched these nightmares unravel, I couldn’t help but think this was some disgusting accident, these primal monsters tearing each other to shreds without remorse. But it wasn’t an accident. In fact, it was brought to life with 30 years of stop-motion—the most detailed, intentional, and time-consuming filmmaking art form.
Each creature the Assassin encounters is a cog in the machine of a tortured existence: they eat other creatures before being eaten themselves. Whether in sequences of two brutish creatures wrestling for each other’s blood, or in moments where the small creature is crushed by an infinitely larger one, Mad God’s food chain is unrelenting—everyone is damned from the start. In Phil Tippett’s hell, it’s one devastating moment after another. The cycle never ends.
“Why Would You Watch That?”
For the first half of the film, I kept thinking, “nobody wants to live here.” In fact, I kept asking how much of this I really wanted to see. How could a human navigate this evil terrain? The Assassin doesn’t fare well. The creatures inhabiting the world’s industrial bloc are born to die. If they could utter something in place of indistinct groans and shrieks, I imagine they’d say, “Help us escape! None of us want this!” What a unique experience it was, marveling at long-awaited stop-motion creativity while woefully pondering the depth portrayed in every grim moment.
Mad God is a disturbing testament to why we love horror. It’s honest, brutal, and unrelenting; it often depicts the underbelly of humanity and the world around us, practically begging us to look for hope in a mad, mad world. Phil Tippett dangles hope and happiness in front of us in one sequence, only to reveal that even that happy moment—with the film’s only bright, neon colors and a lighthearted score—ends in death.
Something every horror fan is used to hearing is, “why would you want to watch that?” What’s the point?
“Viewers can watch horror films entirely for the sake of terrifying moments, or they can subscribe to the deeper messaging the director intends to share.”
First, I think horror as a genre should be recognized as equally creative as other genres; its darkness doesn’t take away from the skill of the craft. That Phil Tippett took 30 years to complete Mad God is a testament to the enduring creativity involved in horror filmmaking. Even using the stop-motion medium, Tippett so perfectly executes his plan that I forgot the blood I saw on-screen was nothing more than corn syrup and food coloring.
People marvel at other films for what they depict as accurate or beautiful representations of their subjects, but shutter at the accurate and grisly representation of horror on-screen—as if the two aren’t achieving the same goal in different ways. Committed fans of stop-motion and horror will find that Mad God is truly one of the most impressive and creative works of the millennium.
Second, I believe horror—as unrelenting as it is—keeps us in touch with reality. There’s nothing actually realistic about Mad God, per se, but its underlying message and even the animalistic nature of every creature adjures us to remind ourselves of the reality around us. I’m sure all of us have felt like the world is some mad and disgusting place wherein everyone lives hopelessly—I know at times I have—but the truth is we all have something to live for. We have friends, family, partners, and so many other things to find hope in as a reminder that we’re not living in Phil Tippett’s dark prophecy.
Look for the Light
For me, watching Mad God was an exercise in hope. Trying to find hope in the film itself was a quick dead end. But as I turned the TV off and started processing what I had just seen (twice now), I considered the things that make me believe I’m not living in a desolate wasteland devoid of meaning. In retrospect, I live in a world where a visual-effects artist from Star Wars was able to bring his dream (or nightmare?) to life and finally see it on the silver screen.
I live in a world where people can create, dreamers can dream, lovers can love, and even the weirdest stop-motion stories can be made. Perhaps we all feel like the Assassin at first: as if God gave us a map that fell apart. But I think we can piece together enough in this life to find hope and meaning.
So let’s watch horror—and every movie—as an exercise in hope, an unconventional search for beauty. Look for the light, even if you’re straining your eyes in some stop-motion trench or a dungeon of cruel monsters. Enjoy the jump-scares, slashers, and thrillers for the experience of being frightened, but look a little deeper to find—within or without the film—a reason to press on, to believe the world isn’t merely a sick, sad place run by the Mad Gods we envision.
Justin Bower is a cinephile, horror fan, and avid reader. You can find him writing at Loud and Clear Reviews or on Instagram @jtalksfilm.